Six Feet Under in the Sky
by Eye of a Hawk
Summary: Who knows why Voldemort fears Death. And he s so polite too... Prolouge and missing scene now posted seperatly. Can be read with or without. Image not mine.


**Six Feet Under in the Sky**

The world was white.

Not a solid white, like a backdrop, or a room with lighting but no shadows. It was more of a mist, a white fog that neither obscured nor revealed anything. Rather, it seemed like there was nothing to reveal. The mist seemed to be everywhere, was everything, only defined by the lightest, faintest shadows from an imperceptible source.

Gradually, a space cleared, the mists retreating to the undefined edges- walls, where it sat. Pulsating. Waiting. With it waited a tall, dark figure. It had not arrived. Rather, it simply was, as if it was always there, still but for the occasional blinking of two absurdly bright blue eyes.

As it waited, the figure reached into its long dark robes, pulling out an hourglass that it looked at, before sighing. There was the sound of a thousand wolves howling and a coffin door slamming. "Soon" the hourglass seemed to say, its grains falling faster and faster. "Very soon".

NOT SOON ENOUGH the dark figure replied, as the audible half of the conversation. He held up another hour glass to the first. Its grains raced even more rapidly than the firsts, hundreds of thousands of moments still yet to be lived, rushing, cramming themselves between the bulbs. It was a beautiful hourglass in contrast to the first. The bulbs were a brilliant green, but of odd proportions. The top was but half the size of the top, as if its owner lived in constant danger, but whose death would still be of significant importance. Far more sands than the figure would have expected flowed from the top to the bottom.

HE LIVES MUCH FOR ONE WITH SO LITTLE TIME the figure mused. It inspected the hourglass one last time, lingering over the only unpleasant feature. A dramatic, one would say almost bloody, red globe hovered between the two chambers, slipping closer and closer to the bottom chamber as if being pulled by the flowing sands. Or as if it pulled the sands with it.

The figure replaced that hourglass somewhere within the depths of its cloak, and returned its attention to the other glass. Where the second was a beautiful, peaceful emerald, the first was a raging maelstrom of bloodlike red. Where the second was of understated elegance, the first was grotesquely adorned. Where the second was of a humble, slightly-smaller-than-average size, the first was huge.

Its rushing sands were obstructed by the very design of the hourglass. The first chamber of the hourglass led not directly to the bottom of the glass but through a series of seven other miniature hourglasses. Where one ended, the other began squeezing the grains down until no more that one or two at a time could pass through to the next bulb.

But as the figure had been watching- in that place where time neither passed nor existed- the inner chambers has cracked, one by one, and the rushing sands spilled from them to the bottom. One by one, some quickly following the predecessors, others maintaining their integrity for long spaces of time, the vessels broke. At some point the figure took its eyes of the hourglass long enough to make a table (Or rather silently request it into being. It was, after all, polite to all beings of consciousness) and place both of the hourglasses, again retrieved from those midnight depths, upon it, settling down to wait.

* * *

><p>As the figure stood (Or rather existed. No on was sure if it ever actually sat. Or at least, anyone willing to talk about other beings personal habits. Some people knew, but everyone likely to ask knew that the politest answer you would get from those unnamed person(s) would be a poker over the head. A solid iron one too, the kind used on under-the-bed-monsters. Not a silly flimsy decorative one) the color of the glasses began to change. From within the emerald hourglass, an uneven red glow began to spread, tainting the pure green wherever it reached the glass. It extended its tentacles through, and the figure gave the impression of wincing at horrific cries of a battle unperceivable by a mere mortal. At the same time, a green blaze appeared around the ruby hourglass, oddly reinforced by strands of dark-green-not-quite-black that belonged to neither of the other two hourglasses.<p>

The figure noted this.

It also noted when the last grain fell from the once-emerald (now entirely blood-red) hourglass.

It watched as the entire glass splintered into thousands of glittering pieces.

It showed no reaction as the blood-red globe fell from the broken remains and shattered in the mists.

It gave the impression of mild interest when it saw the dark-green-not-quite-black outline that remained in the place of that shattered vessel, and saw it catch the splinter of emerald within its confines.

The blood-red globe did not reappear.

The dark-green-not-quite-black sat there, pulsing, with the all the pieces, but its seemed to be waiting. Somthing else was missing. So the figure watched and waited.

Patiently. Time has no grasp in some places, on some people.

* * *

><p>Somewhere from the mists, a bell rang. As the peals faded, another figure entered, clearly walking, through the insubstantial walls and into the white room. As he reached the midnight figure, he smiled.<p>

"I thought I'd seen you soon."

YES. said the figure. HE IS THE ONE YOU´RE WAITING FOR?

The second figure examined the glowing outline with a curiously delighted expression and adjusted his half-moon glasses. "Yes. He is the one. Do you have to meet him, or could I be a stand in?" The figure thought for a moment, then shook its head. "SORRY. POLICY. EQUAL TREATMENT FOR ALL COMERS AND ALL. ALSO, WE´RE NOT SURE IF A STAND-IN WILL RIP TEAR THE FABRIC OF REALITY OR NOT.

"Really?" the old man asked, looking up with interest.

YES replied the figure THE FABRIC OF THIS UNIVERSE IS RATHER DELICATE. I´D CALL IT A SHEER SILK, THOUGH ALBERT SAYS IT'S MORE OF A CHIFFON.

"Really?" the old man repeated.

YES. BUT IT CAN RANGE FROM INVISIBLE SPIDER SILK TO SOMETHING APPROCHING KEVLAR. THAT'S WHY SOME REALITIES HAVE MORE MAGIC THAN OTHERS. IT LEAKS THROUGH THE HOLES OF REALITY FABRIC. UNFORTUNENTLY, IT ALSO MEANS THOSE DON´T LAST AS LONG.

"But the possibilities in the meanwhile…" said the old man with a twinkle in his eyes.

INFINATE, FOR THE MOST PART. HUMANS HAVE A WONDERFUL TERM FOR IT. I BELIEVE THEY CALL IT LIVING IN THE FAST LANE. BUT BASICALLY NO, I´M AFRAID THAT'S NOT ADVISABLE. The figure relented a little as it watched the old man's face fall. I CAN TAKE HIM A MESSAGE THOUGH.

"Yes, I suspected as much." the old man sighed. "Very well. When you see him next, he needs to know that….."

* * *

><p>Death summoned (politely requested) the table again, and with it the two hourglasses. Or at least, what was left of them. Whatever happened next was up to the mortal child alone. Beings like him could never interfere, only observe. And he had enough work collecting souls without trying to save their little civilizations in the first place, thank-you-very-much.<p>

So he observed

The dark-green-not-quite-black sat there, pulsing, giving the impression of a patient child replacing the scattered pieces of a puzzle that some careless, adult had upset.

And so the figure watched it, like one of those knowledgeable adults who remembers childhood, and knows the simple wisdom contained in those young minds. And as he watched the pieces moved, dancing until one found its place, and with a little flex, melded itself back to its neighbour. Eventually, the hourglass returned to its former glory. Whole and unmarred.

But the sands of time still remained at the bottom of the hourglass.

So the dark-green-not-quite-black stirred again, moulding itself into an elongated tube connecting the bottom to the top. And through that tube, winding around the outside of the hourglass, ran the sands of time, moving ever upwards against every law of reality.

But the figure did nothing.

When all the hundreds of thousands of unlived moments were settled back into the future, the dark-green-not-quite-black gave the impression of a small, sad smile and a goodbye wave, then dissolved away. The emerald hourglass stood in ready again for life and battle, the owner's entire life in front of him.

Death felt a rattle from the depth of his robe and heeded the call of his impatient charges. Once he managed to get a grip around the vibrations, he withdrew several more hourglasses. One a warm welcoming brown, the color of leather and old pages. The next, a horridly red only used by sports teams and gingers. The third a shimmering white with just a touch of gold. Then another red, but darker, more beautiful and passionate. Finally another, a dark, sombre brown- serious, proud and honourable. Each hourglass, and Death was sure many more besides, were ringed by a faint green. As Death watched, the green blazed around the dark brown. There was the peal of a bell at the same time as the clang of sword steal. The final chamber in the bloodred burst open.

HE IS AMONG THE LIVING.

* * *

><p>Death gathered all the green-ringed hourglasses and returned them to his robes until only the bloodred remained.<p>

After what could have been a long time, or practically none at all, the last grain of sand fell from the bloodred. The horrified, blood-chilling (though he had none, and feared nothing) scream that rent the air announced the end of his break. He picked up the hourglass and his scythe and watched the interior globes dissolve.

All he could do now was to wait for the owner.

The mist pulsed in a mixture of anger, frustration and indecision, as if the room could not chose which mind to fixate upon for its design. Death watched with an impression of mild interest for the new phenomenon to resolve itself. The mists writhed indecisively until, in a great rush, they were banished.

The owner of the bloodred appeared.

Voldemort was scattered around the room in pieces. Eight pieces exactly, Death noted. Eight warring pieces of one man's mind and soul. Yet again Voldemort had managed to be a first. The first ever to confuse this place of exist-and-nonexist.*

"Where am I?" snarled Voldemort. Or at least, a piece of him snarled. Death thought it was the one that'd remained in his body, because it looked the most human, with a recognizable body, a coldly handsome face, and brown hair. The man he had been with a whole soul. "Who are you?"

YOU ARE HERE said Death. NOT MUCH ELSE REALLY MATTERS NOW. He remained standing at the edge of the room, politely waiting. Some mortals reacted rather badly when he got too close. Which was hardly surprising, but sometimes they threw things******** and he preferred to keep his cloak clean thank-you-very-much.

YOU ARE HERE. Death repeated. AND THERE. AND EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE. VERY MUCH LIKE A VANISHED OBJECT, I WAS TOLD ONCE. THOUGH PERSONALLY I THINK THIS IS A BIT MORE LIKE WHAT YOU MORTALS REFER TO A "THE LIMBO". BUT IT DONES´T REALLY MATTER. NAMES ARE RATHER IRRELEVENT HERE.

Voldemort snarled again. "I asked more an answer, not a philosopher you inept." His wand snapped up towards Death.

Death didn't move. He found little to be afraid of in a young naked boy flourishing a stick at him. Ineffectively flourishing too, he might add. I AM AFRAID THOSE DO NOT WORK HERE, Death explained apologetically. SIDE EFFECT OF THE LIMBO. The boy looked absolutely apoplectic at by this point. Ignoring Death, he continued to flourish his wand (rather abusively, Death began to feel bad for the being inhabiting it. It's owner's death had to be the best things that happened to it yet considering its current treatment.) He sighed. _Mortals_.

After a while, the boy gave up and turned back to Death. "Who are you?" he repeated, the cold fury tainted with just the slightest hint of fear. "And why did you bring me here?"

EVERYONE COMES HERE IN THE END Death explained. I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE SPECIFICS. YOU MORTALS DECIDE THE MANNER. The boy's eyes at the implications of Death's words.

"You speak as if you are immortal."

I AM said Death. FOR THE MOST PART***.

"So there is more than one path to immortality." The boy's eyes shown glee.

I´M AFRAID NOT said Death. THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY. AND ITS NOT EXACTLY GUARANTEED. THOUGH THEY DID IMPROVE THE SECURITY AROUND THE TEETH.

The boy blinked at the answer, the glee fading from his face to be replaced by incredulity. "So you created Horcruxes as well? And you used _teeth_?"

I HAVE NONE OF THESE HORCRUXES, Death replied.

"Then why do you insist there is only one way to immortality. I myself am living proof of another path!"

"..."

ABOUT THAT….Death said apologetically, gesturing at the Horcrux remains. I´M AFRAID I HAVE SOME UNFORTUNENT NEWS FOR YOU….

* * *

><p>*Well, not exactly. As was the same with most of Voldemort´s other firsts. Something always goes amiss. There had been that delightfully impossible man who not only came and left from the place of exist-and-nonexist but who'd managed to give the mists color. And tangibility. And who'd spent half an hour scrolling through different possibilities with the most childishly enthralled face Death had ever seen on a mortal and no regard whatsoever for his current state of being**. He finally decided on a modest blue box before they got down to some truly fascinating discussions of reality, time and physics. Just because Death knew about different universes and realities didn't mean he could travel to them. No reality need more than one full fledged death at a time, no matter how overworked they may feel at times. But then, Voldemort was a mortal***, and hardly on the same level as the pinstriped man. Scarcely a fair comparison.<p>

** State of being alive. Or dead, depending on the situation.

***Actually, Death wasn't even sure Voldemort really classified as a mortal at this point. Mortality had less to do with death than people thought, and more with what happened after death. Immortals were immortal because as long as there was belief, they existed****. Death was hardly going to die, unless humans found a miracle medicine, and even then there'd probably be wars over it. And more deaths. But others came and went like fads. Mortals, on the other hand, had souls that continued on after death. Technically speaking. There was a department that dealt with the hordes, advertising their options; Heaven, Hell, reincarnation…. But that was hardly his job and as such, of little concern. Susan had summed it up most aptly. "Mortals die, but exist forever***** Immortals cannot be killed, but cease to exist. And why someone screwed up the names I do not know, but they clearly did not do their research. As a governess I give them a D-." With only a half life****** Death had no idea what would happen to Voldemort. Though frankly, he was tempted just to bypass the bureaucracy and toss him into Hell. No one ever actually chose that option voluntarily. Not without blackmail or some sort of bodily******* threat.

**** Adult are wrong when they say that the Tooth Fairy, and the Hogfather don't exist. Just because something is improbable doesn't mean it's impossible. The truth is, people believe these sorts of things into being. So when you hear a grown up say they don't believe in the Hogfather, or laugh patronizingly at the holiday excitement, it's probably not true. There's at least a little bit of belief left, or the Hogfather wouldn't exist in the first place. Grownups manage to believe in things like truth, and justice and equality, though the Hogfather is much more frequently in evidence. Once a year, every year, right on schedule. Adults are so ridiculous.

***** Or at least such a very, very long time that no one has ever had the inclination, or memory, to track.

****** Or more correctly 9 1/9th lives. Well, souls.

******* Soully

******** For some reason, mortals maintain what they have on them when they die. The same cloths********* and, occasionally, what ever they were carrying at the time of death. Usually weapons of some sort, or alcohol bottles, but Death had seen a cat-shaped spritz bottle, human sized scale (with a duck on one side and the dead person in the other), an entire tree, a rubber chicken**********, a doctor*********** and what one person insisted was a Timey Wimey detector.

********* That was why Death never understood the point of dressing the deceased nicely for the funeral. The cloths weren't going to do them any good now, and magically switch. If they did, Death could understand being interned in a favourite pair of sweatpants and a sweater, but you got what you died with. That was that.

********** Though privately, Death felt that one was an intentional cliché

*********** Death still wasn't sure how that one happened, but he thought that the patient had accidently killed his doctor with a death grip. Though Albert and the Librarian still disagreed. Susan refused to get involved.

* * *

><p><strong>AN-** Can anyone name all the reference I made? Extra points to those who can. Also to those who review! (Hint Hint)? Was it too obvious? Or not obvious enough? This was a spur of the moment, middle of class piece that turned out way longer than expected. There may be a part 2 if you guys like it and review!


End file.
